Laughter
by PrairieLily
Summary: Did he mean what he said? 27 hours and 12 minutes was the only difference between despair and laughter for Molly Hooper. Molly/Sherlock with John thrown in for some brotherly advice and a kick in the arse to his best friend. Complete and in two chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_I've been reading a lot of TFP aftermath stories here, which have dealt with Molly and Sherlock after "the call". I realized today that most of them (including one that I wrote, called "Trickling Forgiveness") involved Molly avoiding Sherlock and not wanting to speak to him. So I thought, WHAT IF… SHE were the one seeking HIM out to talk it out, rather than him? And HE were the one hesitant to take that step… And what if the awkwardness were to lead to a different kind of tears? My timeline for the events between Sherrinford and Musgrave (I honestly have no idea how that's spelled, but it sounds like a local name from where I'm from so I'm going with that), has been estimated and hopefully isn't too off kilter. As always my story is complete, and I will be posting in probably two chapters. I hope you all enjoy, I don't hold out for reviews. Love, as always, PrairieLily_

Molly Hooper looked down at her phone.

Twenty messages, none responded to.

She tapped on the keyboard for a few moments, paused and pondered, her thumb hovering over the send button.

 _"Sherlock PLEASE, we NEED to talk. PLEASE call me."_

After just a moment's more hesitation, she closed her eyes, brought her thumb down, and sent the message.

Maybe the twenty-first one would be the charm.

When Sherlock Holmes, sitting in a chair next to his best friend's hospital bed, heard his phone chime for the twenty-first time, he glanced down at it. He sighed and ran his hand through his loose black curls. Why was she insisting on talking to him after everything he'd just done to her? The horrible way he'd been forced to treat her? He wanted to tell HIMSELF to piss off after all of that, why would anyone with a lick of common sense or dignity want to subject themselves to his asshattery?

John Watson, settled warmly in his hospital bed and recovering from hypothermia and a near drowning thanks to Sherlock and Mycroft's crazy secret baby sister Eurus, stirred awake.

"Just answer her, you bloody daft dolt," he mumbled as he stirred fully awake.

Sherlock closed his eyes, wincing at the headache beginning to form. "So she can tear me a new asshole, John? I think I've been through enough this week, don't you think?"

John, now fully awake, pulled himself up into a sitting position. Sherlock absently reached behind him and adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable.

"Damnit Sherlock, she told you she loves you. She admitted it. And SO DID YOU." Sherlock levelled a look at him, which John promptly returned. It was a waltz of brotherly glares that the two had perfected over the years.

"Oh don't give me that look, you daft bastard. You think she only wants to talk to you so that she can tell you to piss off once and for all? She could ignore you, you know, and do that with a lot less bother. Pull your head out of your ass, mate. Answer her! She at least deserves THAT much after all this."

Sherlock frowned, took a deep breath, and started tapping out a reply. He scowled at his best friend, jabbing a finger in his direction. "If I lose my jewels over this, I'm holding you personally responsible John Watson."

John snorted in tired amusement. Trust his best friend's oblivion to make him smile, even after everything they'd been through. ESPECIALLY after everything they'd been through. John knew true love, he'd had it himself. Sherlock and Molly had it too, he recognized it a mile away. And damned if he was going to let his best friend throw away something like that.

"Jackass," he muttered with a weak smile and a soft chuckle, as he drifted back to sleep.

Sherlock paused a second more. "Goodbye, boys," he thought with resignation, as he tapped send.

 _"On my way. SH"_


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock approached the door of Molly's flat quietly and absently. His mind was racing with things that needed to be said, and he had no idea which one would be best in avoiding a black eye or a bloody nose, or… he took a sharp, inward breath - _worse_. He stopped and raised his hand to the doorbell. Well… no time like the present. In for a penny, in for a pound. Go big or go home. Shit or get off the…

His efforts to psyche himself up to ring the bell were interrupted by Molly opening the door.

"It's about bloody time," she declared. "I've been trying to contact you for hours." She pulled him into her living room before he could change his mind and bolt, and sat him down on the sofa, the tea and biscuits she'd prepared already sitting on a tray in front of them.

Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. "Um… yes. 27 hours and 12 minutes, actually. To be fair, that's how long it's been since… we last… um… spoke. I was rather busy for several hours after that, I'm afraid."

Molly gave him a death glare. He knew?! T _o the minute?!_ How long it had been since he had called and pleaded with her to say 'I love you'? And the _moment_ she had said it, he had hung up on her… and yet he had made no effort to answer her texts since then?

"But, I'm here now," he said quickly, and a little fearfully. So much to say, so little time to prepare… he opened his mouth to speak and everything came tumbling out.

"Molly I am so, so sorry. For everything. For the call, for ignoring you for the past," Sherlock checked his watch, "15 hours and 18 minutes… a lot has happened. So much to process. Turns out, I'm a lot more human than I ever imagined. That, and John being hospitalized for hypothermia, well, I've had a lot on my mind. Including you, and our call, and what I made you say, and what you made me say…"

"So... you haven't forgotten what was said then," Molly said, quietly. She took a deep breath to stifle her fear. "Sherlock I need to know… did you mean it, what you said? I mean, I know I forced you to say it, but…"

Then she blinked. "Wait. John in the hospital? Hypothermia? What the hell happened? Sherlock, is this why you've been ignoring my messages?" Molly suddenly felt incredibly selfish and foolish. She blushed deeply in shame, something that was not lost on Sherlock. He reached up and touched her face softly. Molly brought her hand up to touch his, and he winced slightly at the forgotten splinters. She pulled it down, still grasping it, and held it gently, waiting for him to continue speaking.

He had begun to calm his thoughts a little and was better able to form them coherently. "Well… I wouldn't say that's WHY, necessarily. Maybe my excuse." Molly raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay, PROBABLY my excuse. I've had a lot of revelations to process. Including you, darling. After what's happened over the past 36 hours, the aftermath… well let's just say I've had an awakening, in more ways than one. Molly, now that I've had a chance to breathe, had a chance to process, I realize that I _did_ mean it. What I said. You didn't force me to say it my love, you forced me to _acknowledge_ it, acknowledge that I do love you, very much. Not in the same way I love my parents, not the same way I love Rosie, not the same way I love John… he's frankly more a brother to me than Mycroft could ever be... I love you in the same devastating, exhilarating, breathtaking way that John loved Mary. Losing you would have destroyed me." He smiled at her weakly, hoping she understood his bollocksed up jumble of a so-called explanation.

Molly sat silently, stunned at the sudden answer to her question. What he had just told her started to sink in as she realized what this probably meant for them.

"Besides," Sherlock said nervously, "I was afraid. I thought you were pissed off, and to be perfectly honest Molly, I thought that remaining fully intact would be rather useful if we ever decided to have children."

There was a stunned silence, and the sudden snort of Molly holding back a giggle. She looked at him, reached up with both hands and touched his face. She stared deeply into his intoxicatingly blue-green eyes as she traced the contours of his cheekbones, and began to giggle. Her dark eyes crinkled shut as she surrendered to the laughter, sliding her hands down his face, over his broad shoulders, and grasping his arms. She leaned forward against his chest and surrendered, helpless to the release of pent up emotions.

Sherlock sat in stunned silence for a few moments.

"Well… it IS a valid point," he said, "in my own defence, one cannot father children without… well…"

Molly gained control long enough to look up at him. "You thought I would… I would… what?"

Sherlock shrugged, allowing a smile to form. "And feed them to the cat, no doubt." He looked down at Molly, his beautiful Molly, and thought about how devastated she had sounded 27 hours ago, and how happy and alive she sounded now.

"Oh Sherlock…!" she gasped, trying to catch her breath, "I could never do that to the man I love, no matter how furious you've made me!" She dissolved in a fit before managing, "Our future children are quite safe, I promise!"

Sherlock blinked several times as he was hit by the absurdity of what he had just said, even though he had been quite serious – and allowed the smile to morph into a chuckle, beginning from his belly and moving up into his chest, and finally out through his throat. Before they knew it, they were helpless in each other's arms, laughing uncontrollably with blessed emotional release.

When they had finally begun to regain composure, Sherlock reached down and wiped away the tears that had streamed down Molly's face. He pressed his lips to her forehead and kept them there for a few moments, savouring the scent of her lotion and the softness of her skin. He pulled away and looked down at her, flushed and aglow from breathless laughter. He brought his face down and met her lips with his, drinking her in and letting her fill his soul with every single one of those complicated little emotions that Eurus had shown such disdain for. Such a beautiful, radiant smile Molly had. It gave him courage to speak... now that the admittedly irrational fear of losing his ability to father their children had passed.

"It's such a long story," Sherlock finally said. "But the important thing for you to know is that I DID mean what I said. It's going to take a while to tell you everything. But my darling we'll get to that." He mustered the energy to take a long pull from the mug of tea, then settled back on the sofa, sighing happily, drained from the sudden catharsis of laughter he had shared with the woman he loved and up until now – feared losing. He swung his legs up and planted his feet on the table in front of them while Molly wiggled her way next to him, curling her legs up, and settled against him, content in his embrace. She closed her eyes and soaked in the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear, the feel of his chest gently rising and falling with each breath, the scent of the soap from his haphazard shower and the cologne he wore in case he hadn't taken enough time after all under the water.

"I don't think I even remember the last time I laughed that hard," she said, lightly, feeling suddenly spent. "I think it was either laugh or cry. I'm frankly fresh out of despair, so I suppose... laugh it was." Sherlock brought a hand around and absently stroked her hair. "This is going to take a lot of work, isn't it?" she asked.

Sherlock smiled, the fresh memory of her laughter still ringing in his ears. "Yes, it is. But nothing worth having ever comes easily, does it? Hopefully now that I've pulled my head out of my ass we can move forward. I suppose this means you forgive me for my radio silence the past 27 hours…"

"And 12 minutes," Molly finished for him. "Yes love, I forgive you. I don't know the whole story yet but I know it will explain your reasons for everything. You may have been an ass in the past, but I trust you, Sherlock. I have always trusted you. Your intentions have never been malicious or deliberately mean… just… oblivious."

"You are not going to believe the reason for that either," he said, sighing at the enormity of the explanation THAT would require.

His phone chimed with an incoming message. He twisted an arm around to grab it and take a look.

 _"So?"_ John had messaged.

 _"I get to keep them!"_ Sherlock replied.

In a hospital room in London, where a patient prepared himself for discharge after a harrowing 36 hour ordeal that found it's denouement in an abandoned water well, a burst of belly laughter rang out from the certain best friend of a certain consulting detective.

 _"See you in the morning,"_ John tapped out. He stopped a minute and grinned.

 _"_ _;-)"_ he added, then hit send.


End file.
